


Clandestine

by timehopper



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Sylvain meets Claude on the outskirts of Gautier to exchange information about the war.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42
Collections: Claudevain Valentine Weekend





	Clandestine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 of the Claudevain Valentine Weekend Event: Confession! I interpreted the prompt pretty loosely, but it still fits! In my opinion anyway. The other prompts and the event itself are [here](https://twitter.com/cldvnweekend/status/1360257795224834049).
> 
> We're a little closer to the E end of the spectrum here, but there's nothing _too_ explicit so I decided to keep the rating at M. :) 
> 
> Big thank you to [@_ruinedsky](https://twitter.com/_ruinedsky) on twitter for beta reading!

The ride to the Gautier-Fraldarius border is long and cold. The chill seeps into Sylvain’s bones through the thick furs and heavy cloak he wears, even as tightly bundled-up as he is. The wind pushes it deeper and deeper past his layers as it blows past him, whipping his face and urging him on faster, faster.

Spring should have come by now. It has, technically, though in name only: the Lone Moon is nearing its end, and further south Sylvain is sure the rest of Fódlan is enjoying the warmer weather – or what they can of it during wartime – but here in Gautier, it’s freezing cold and uncharacteristically damp.

Winters are long and lonely in Gautier even in times of peace, though, and so when Sylvain had been presented with the opportunity to break from the monotony of his routine, to go south and escape the harrowing blizzards for even just a single night, he'd jumped at it. The battle against Cornelia's Dukedom is quiet right now, and likely won't start up in earnest again until the days grow warmer; no doubt Cornelia’s forces are biding their time until the sowing season begins, when Fraldarius and Gautier and Galatea will be distracted ensuring their people have food for another year.

Sylvain dismounts his horse as soon as he passes through the town gates. The sun is just going down; the warm orange lamplight from inside the inn he’s chosen is warm and welcoming. It's a small place, discrete – the kind of place Sylvain would bring an illicit lover to for a clandestine rendezvous, though he has no such amorous intentions tonight.

Tonight, it's all business.

He pays for room and board right when he enters, leaving a generous tip for the innkeeper’s discretion before trudging up the creaky steps to his room. It’s a nice room, if simple: sturdy furniture, likely to survive even the most intense lovers' trysts; plain sheets upon the bed and extra furs on a nearby nightstand; and – Sylvain knew he’d picked this place for a reason – a bottle of wine on the table and two goblets to go with it.

He's drawn away from his cursory inspection by a knock on the door signalling the arrival of his meal. Sylvain accepts it at the door, brings it inside, and wolfs it down gratefully. He hadn’t realized quite how hungry the journey had made him until this very moment.

When he's done, Sylvain leaves his plate by the door and moves back downstairs to sit amongst the inn’s busy evening crowd. He takes small pleasure in the cheerful faces and the rising volume of the room as more and more liquor finds its way into greedy hands and down eager throats, because it's nice to know that even in times of war, when any day now their lives and livelihoods could be snatched away from them, there are still people without a care in the world trying to enjoy themselves as everything they know threatens to crumble away before them.

Sylvain wishes he had the luxury of forgetting. But he's the son of a margrave, heir to one of Faerghus's most powerful noble houses, and on the front lines of the fight against the Adrestian Empire. He can't just up and leave that, no matter how much he may want to. Even now, in this little town just off the scrap of coast where Fraldarius and Gautier's borders intersect, where Sylvain is surrounded by rowdy, rambunctious crowds and where by all means he should be prowling the floor for any pretty willing maidens to join him in bed, he's still fighting.

 _It'll all be worth it, though,_ he tells himself as he turns his gaze to the tavern's entrance and waits for his visitor to arrive. _Claude will pull through._

* * *

He's in the middle of a game of cards when Claude enters the inn.

He slips in quietly, wrapped in a gold-trimmed cloak. It's one Sylvain recognizes, if only by the description he’d received in a letter delivered half a week ago: long enough to brush his knees, with a large hood pulled low to obscure the top half of his face. Tassels sway at the hem; a wyvern’s wings keep it clasped together at the neck.

The figure in the cloak looks around, and though Sylvain can't see his eyes, he knows when he's been spotted.

Claude nods and Sylvain returns it, serious for just a moment before he drags his attention back to the cards in his hand. "Well! Sorry, boys, but it looks like I'll have to bow out for the night. I guess luck just wasn't with me."

He tosses his cards down, thankful that at least he'd drawn a losing hand. It’s a little irritating to have been pulled away when the game had just been getting fun, but business is business and war is war. There are more important things in life than playing games.

Though, truth be told, he's not entirely sure that his companion for the night knows that.

Claude smiles at Sylvain from under his cloak as he approaches. Sylvain fights not to return it – he's far from home, but not so far he's certain _nobody_ will recognize him, and he really doesn't need this meeting getting back to his father or Lord Rodrigue – and inclines his head toward the stairs before slowly making his way up them.

He hears rather than sees Claude follow, the steps creaking under his feather-light footsteps. It's eerie, how quietly he moves even in his riding boots, and how the only thing giving away his presence is how old the floorboards are. If Sylvain hadn't known Claude was here specifically to speak with him, he might have wondered if he was about to find a knife in his back or poison poured down his throat.

"You're tense," Claude says as Sylvain pulls out a key and unlocks the door to his room. His voice is low, quiet, as if he's afraid to disturb the other guests even with the noise from the tavern below rising through the floor.

"We're at war," Sylvain says. "Not a lot of room for relaxation these days."

"True enough."

The door opens. Claude follows him inside, removing his cloak and hanging it on the rack opposite Sylvain's. He's got a smile on his face, projecting confidence and comfort. Notably, though, he doesn't remove his boots. (Sylvain doesn't either.)

Claude intends for this to be a quick exchange, then. Or maybe he's nervous. He’s always been good at hiding his true feelings under a cheerful, flirtatious facade – a skill he and Sylvain share – but even Claude has his tells. They hadn't known each other very well back at the academy, but they didn’t have to for Sylvain to notice that he always kept everyone at arms’ length.

It was strange, then, when the first letter came. Claude and Sylvain got along well enough at school, sure, playing games in the courtyards on breaks and chatting in the library when they were both up too late for their own good, but nothing had ever gone any deeper than that. Sylvain had no desire to get to know Claude back then, but now that they're both fighting for their lives and the wellbeing of the lands they rule, he's glad they'd started exchanging letters.

News from Leicester is hard to come by otherwise.

Sylvain pulls out one of the chairs at the table, then takes the seat opposite it. He gestures for Claude to join him, and Claude does, eyeing the wine on the table. "A little fancy for a place like this, don't you think?"

Sylvain laughs and pours him a cup. "Maybe a bit, but I'm hosting a duke tonight. Only the finest will do."

"And yet you picked somewhere completely out of the way, in a little village outside a much busier port town." He accepts the wine and looks into the glass, as if inspecting it.

"It's not poisoned," Sylvain says, extending his hand.

Claude hands the glass over. Sylvain takes a sip, noting the way Claude's eyes linger on his mouth, the bob of his throat, the tip of his tongue as he licks up the remaining drops.

He hands it back, and Claude drinks more easily now – almost indulgently, raising it to his lips slowly and closing his eyes as he tilts the goblet up. He smiles when it comes away.

Smiling too, Sylvain pours a helping for himself and leans back. "So," he says. "Your letter said you had information for me."

Claude sighs. "So quick to get to the point. I thought you'd at least try to flirt with me a little first."

"Is that what you want?" Sylvain laughs.

"Maybe."

"And they call me insatiable. Weren't my letters enough?"

It's Claude's turn to laugh now. He swirls the wine in his goblet amicably, his eyes shining with mirth, and Sylvain thinks he might actually be amused. "Oh, were you flirting in them? I hadn't noticed."

 _Bullshit_ , Sylvain almost says, but he bites his tongue. "Then it sounds like I need to step up my game," he says instead, relishing the dance.

"Maybe you should. But then again, you managed to get me here tonight all the way from nice, mild Derdriu. Seriously, how do you put up with this cold?"

"You get used to it." Sylvain takes another sip of his wine. Claude mirrors him, and when he lowers his goblet, it's empty. "But enough about Gautier. How are things in Derdriu?"

Claude's eyes narrow. "Oh, you know, the usual. The other Alliance lords are – ah!" His eyes go comically wide, and he lifts a hand to his mouth, pretending at being caught slipping up. "You scoundrel, trying to get my intel from me before I'm ready to give it up."

"It was worth a try," Sylvain concedes with a shrug and a half-amused grin. He leans forward, reaching for the wine bottle, intent on refilling Claude's cup.

Claude stops him with a hand over his.

"Really," Claude says, voice low, green eyes looking up at Sylvain through his lashes. A devilish smirk plays about his lips, and for a moment, Sylvain wonders if he's read this entire situation wrong. "There's no reason for us to rush this. We have the whole night, after all."

He runs a thumb over Sylvain's knuckles, and in that moment, there's no questioning his intent. And so, predicable as the move may be, Sylvain lets got of the bottle and twists his wrist so Claude's hand can rest in his. He tugs on it lightly to pull Claude up from his seat and toward him.

"Then let's make the most of it."

* * *

It's a short trip to the bed, quick even with them pausing every two steps to rid each other of their clothing. Claude's lips are warm and soft, his tongue sweet with wine as it delves into the depths of Sylvain’s mouth. This isn't the direction Sylvain had expected the night to go in, but he's hardly complaining – not when Claude feels so good against him and the hot, firm lines of their bodies press together. Eager, curious hands slide up his back and into his hair, and Sylvain bites, revelling in the hiss of pleasure that earns him.

It's been a while since he’s been with anyone, man or woman. Now that he’s here, willingly trapped in another’s embrace, Sylvain finds himself aching with need. Desire burns through him, hot and heady, and in the space between seconds he thinks he’s almost ready to give it all up – the war, Gautier, everything – just to fall back into old patterns and lose himself in the heat of someone else.

He never in a hundred years would have assumed that someone would be Claude von Riegan. He had never been bad to look at, and he's only grown more handsome. Longer hair, brushed back out of his face; the beginnings of a beard, giving him something of a rugged, roguish charm; the last awkward lines of his body smoothing out and softening as he grows into them. He's no taller than he had been, but he's broader in the chest, his back and shoulders toned from continued archery practice.

Where or when he has the opportunity for practice, Sylvain doesn't know. Leicester isn't actively fighting against the Empire; it’s claimed neutrality, isolating itself as the war goes on around them. From what little Sylvain has gleaned from Claude's letters, it seems roundtables and arguments and politics take up most of his spare time. There's still much to settle after his grandfather's death, apparently.

But none of that matters now, in this moment. It will soon, when they're done, when they've taken their pleasure from each other, when they're left sweaty and spent on the bed and questioning whether this was time well spent or one more thing to add to an ever-growing list of regrets. But even that is a distant thought in Sylvain's mind now.

He pushes Claude down onto the bed and climbs over him, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss to his lips, his jaw, his neck, his chest. Down, down, down he goes, encouraged by Claude's hand tangling in his hair. He feels fingers tangle in it, pushing and pulling in turns, and still Sylvain moves further down, teeth and tongue dragging against toned, flawless skin. He opens his mouth; Claude’s grip tightens, and Sylvain lets himself fade away in the litany of quiet gasps and chokes and cut off whispers of "Sylvain – _Sylvain_ —!"

He slides back up Claude's body to kiss him deeply and let him taste himself. They rock together, connected by Claude's arms around Sylvain's back, his legs around his waist. And then Claude reaches over the edge of the bed to pull a vial from his shirt pocket, left within convenient reach.

Sylvain takes it, coats himself in oil, and loses himself in Claude completely.

* * *

They lie together when they’re done, side by side and connected only by their synchronized breathing and the tiny fractions of space where their arms and hands brush up against one another.

Claude is the first to move, turning onto his side and pressing another deep, lavish kiss to Sylvain's lips. He meets it lazily, tired and sated as he is; Claude smiles against him, and they break apart, green eyes gazing into brown.

"You ready to talk yet?" Sylvain asks, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair behind Claude's ear. He looks good like this, in the low light of the room's hearth. Ethereal, almost, with his eyes shining so brightly.

He’s even prettier when he laughs.

"So insistent," Claude says, rolling back over and flopping down on his back. He takes a moment to breathe, his chest rising and falling slowly. Sylvain is transfixed.

"…Actually," Claude starts, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. "About that."

"Hm?"

"I have a confession to make."

Sylvain sits up, leaning on his side and reaching over to trail a finger up Claude's chest. "Oh, no. Don’t tell me you lied to me."

"No, nothing like that," Claude insists. "Well, not in the way you're thinking. The truth is… that this was my goal all along."

Sylvain raises a brow. "To sleep with me?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"I thought you wanted information."

"I said I wanted to make an exchange," Claude clarifies. "I told you I had information for you, but I never asked for any in return."

Sylvain's hand stills as he takes in Claude's words. Thinking back, he's right: none of Claude's letters had specified that he wanted Sylvain to leak any of Gautier's secrets or strategies, just that he had wanted to meet in person. Something about not wanting his letters to be intercepted, and that Sylvain could find something to pay him back with.

Sylvain hums. "Clever."

"Don't worry, I fully intend to give you the intel I promised," Claude says. "I'm a man of my word, most of the time. I won't object if there's anything you want to share, though."

He sits up. Sylvain laughs hollowly and lets his eyes wander over Claude's body slowly and lasciviously, as though he still hadn't gotten enough watching him writhe and arch beneath him. "There isn't," he says. "Come on, then, let's hear it."

Claude sighs. "The Alliance isn't as united as you think," he says quietly.

It’s a quick and easy admission: no fight, no stalling, no deflecting. Something about that should alarm Sylvain, but he sets that worry aside. Claude is delivering on his promise; he’s not about to interrupt, so he shifts, turning to face Claude and give him his full attention. This is what he came here for, after all, and as tempting as it is to keep his eyes on Claude's body, to lean forward and taste the sweat drying on his skin, this is information he needs to know.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

Claude leans back against the headboard, arms folded behind his head. "Outwardly, we're a united front intent on maintaining neutrality. Internally, it's a whole other story. There are factions within factions, some who are ready to welcome the Empire in with open arms, and others who are itching to fight back and join the resistance in the Kingdom."

Sylvain nods. "But they can't."

"They can't," Claude agrees. "Openly sending troops to aid you would be declaring Adrestia our enemy, and there are too many territories at risk of invasion. Not that it would be much an invasion if the Empire was just… let in, if you catch my drift."

"Gloucester sympathizes with the Empire," Sylvain says.

"Ordelia too." Despite the harrowing topic, Claude smiles, seemingly pleased. "I had a feeling you'd get it. That's why I chose you for this, after all."

Sylvain snorts. "It wasn't just my reputation for being easy?"

"That was part of it," Claude admits. "You've always been easy on the eyes, and we got along well enough at the Officer's Academy. But it's not just your looks that brought me to you – if it were, I could have chosen just about anyone."

"Ouch."

"Oh, hush. I'm not finished." Claude reaches out and pats Sylvain's cheek. "I picked you because you're clever, Sylvain. You notice more than you let on and you're good at keeping secrets and putting them to use when you need to. I like your body, yeah, but it's your _mind_ I'm attracted to."

His mind. So that had been it all along: Claude had wanted someone he could use, yes, but he hadn't sought Sylvain out for his Crest, or his position as heir to Gautier, or for what he knew of the fight against Cornelia's Dukedom. Claude had wanted him as a confidante, someone he could confide in.

Claude had been… _lonely_.

The realization stirs and warms something in Sylvain’s chest, something strange and unfamiliar. His initial anger at being used ebbs and dulls, melts and softens into something unidentifiable. For a moment, Sylvain thinks he may truly be enamoured with Claude.

But those are thoughts for later.

"So what does this mean?" he asks, studying Claude’s face. "That your hands are tied, but you sympathize with what's left of the kingdom? That if Gloucester and Ordelia come around you want us all to join forces?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Claude says. "It'll take some doing, and maybe a miracle or two, but if we can make it work..." He smiles. "I'm not going to ask you to leave Gautier and come away with me, but if you had a steady stream of information, say, from continued clandestine meetings..."

He trails off, but just as before, his intent is clear as day. Sylvain grins, pleased at the way Claude laughs as he's pushed back down to the bed and straddled. "Is that a proposition, Duke Riegan?"

"Only if you say yes. Otherwise, we can go back to our respective battlefronts and forget any of this ever happened."

"In that case..." Sylvain leans down close, close enough he can feel Claude's smile against his lips. "I may have a confession or two to make myself."

"Oh?" Claude's smile grows, something wicked in it. Sylvain wets his lips.

"Yeah," he whispers. "But why rush it? We still have all night, after all."

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and think you might like to see more, have a chat, or would like to get to know me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r).
> 
> And if you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1355219789560471554). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
